CHAPTER 1
MARIE
Ididn’t quite remember why we’d come to the decision to sell the house, or exactly how. There was a strong chance gin had been involved, at least on my part, and Grant had recently developed a taste for stupidly deep chiantis, so that was possibly a factor.
But in the cold light of day, we still agreed it was right. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say it was because of the cold light of day. The following day began an enduring cold snap and our boiler decided now would be a great time to give up the battle of heating a five storey, eight-bedroomed, ridiculously large London detached building that currently had only two people rambling round it. Fantastic idea? Damned straight.
That was us both being pragmatic. That was me putting my emotions in a box and not letting them be a factor, because this was the home where we’d brought, sometimes dragged, occasionally carried, our seven children. Every room contained memories, most rooms contained something that our youngest son, Seph, had not yet taken with him to his own home.
Therein lay the problem.
All seven kids were now in their thirties and forties. It had been more than a decade since any of them had lived here.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t going to play merry-hell when they found out we were selling it.
“Boiler’s fixed.” My husband of several decades, who was now into his seventh decade of being on this earth, wiped his hands on his trousers as if he’d fixed it himself.
He hadn’t. He was as practical as an empty fountain pen, bless him, but he liked to pretend he was capable of manly stuff like fixing boilers and doing a bit of plumbing.
My favourite attempt had been a blocked U-bend. He’d unscrewed it, cleared out the gunk that was causing the difficulties, then tipped the gunk down the sink before screwing the U-bend back on.
Hadn’t been one of his finest moments.
“Helpful.” I sat down at the kitchen table where we usually ate breakfast and I had my morning coffee. “The estate agent called. They have a very interested buyer already.”
Grant frowned. “You only had the conversation with them last week.”
“I know. Apparently they have a waiting list of buyers and their specifications. The buyer they told me about is looking for something ready to move into and is in a hurry. He’s in Boston for another two weeks and then is moving over here to take up a new post in one of the hospitals.” My estate agent was chatty and liked to give details, which was both lovely and also a very good sign for me to not disclose too much to them.
“Are we doing it then? Selling this?” He looked around the kitchen as if he’d never seen it before.
“I think so. We have the apartment. We don’t need this house anymore.” Need and want were two separate things, and I could want to keep on a huge, vast piece of property and all the memories it contained, but it was a ghost-ship. The buildingthat had been home to nine of us, plus the occasional friend or cousin, felt cold and echoey now it was just Grant and me.
“We don’t. The kids are going to be pissed though.” He rinsed his hands and then poured himself a glass of red wine. “Seph will kick up a stink.”
“I don’t think he’ll be the only one. I’m prepared for Ava to make an offer on it, although we won’t accept it.” I’d considered a few scenarios in the last week and I didn’t think Ava would be the only one who wanted to keep hold of the house.
“Why not?’ He sat down opposite me, both of us now in our usual seats.
“They need to move on. Max’s house and Seph’s are both big enough to have everyone round, and most weekends there’s a least one of our kids at the Oxford house.” Which was where I preferred them because the grandkids could gallop around outside rather than causing havoc indoors. I was a great believer in kids climbing trees and inventing strange games, not the least because it tired them out, and there was nothing lovelier than a sleeping grandchild.
Grant shrugged. “I kind of understand it. When are we going to tell them?”
“This weekend. I think we should demand they come round on Saturday and we tell them together. Then we can deal with the fallout that evening and head on holiday on Sunday. The rest of the fallout they can manage themselves.”
Grant stared at me, a look that I was going to interpret as adoration for my genius plan.
“Maybe you should give their other halves the heads-up.”
“Really?”
His grin was the same one he’d been flashing me since the first day we’d met. “No. One of them will let it slip and then we’ll have more issues. Are Callum and Wren here this weekend?”
My pretend favourite child – because having favourites would be wrong - and his wife, plus their three kids lived on the farm next to our home in Oxfordshire. They both did some work with the universities but were in the city less than our other offspring.
“They are. Can’t remember why but they’re staying with Seph and Georgia.” I hadn’t been listening when Callum was telling me because I’d reached a critical point in my book and didn’t want to put it down. “Callum can be Seph’s emotional support blanket.”
“Very true.” He looked around the room again. “Remember when we bought this place?”
